


You Have Erased Me (Now That You Left Me)

by withdiamonds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-15
Updated: 2008-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 06:45:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withdiamonds/pseuds/withdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has a few issues, post Mystery Spot.  First posted March, 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Have Erased Me (Now That You Left Me)

"Seriously, dude. There's a bar right down the street. One block away, two, tops." Dean slapped his hand down on the flimsy motel desk, making Sam's empty coffee cup jump. "Sam!"

Sam looked up from his laptop, eyes dark, something that looked like confusion in them. Then recognition slid into place and Sam tried to cover it with a smile. "What?"

Dean wasn't buying it. "What the hell is with you lately, Sam?" He spoke irritably, but he was actually more worried than annoyed. "You're being even more of a freak than usual, dude."

"Bite me," said Sam, but his heart wasn't in it, Dean could tell. Sam's eyes focused back on the computer screen and Dean followed them.

"Obituaries? Dude, we just got done smokin' a werewolf about half an hour ago. You're looking for another job already?" Then he leaned closer and saw it, just before Sam slapped the lid closed. Broward County death notices for the couple of days – weeks, months, whatever it had been to Sam, it had still only been a day for Dean – they'd been there. "What the fuck, Sammy?"

"I just thought," Sam started. He looked grim, determined. "I thought maybe I could get some idea how-" He stopped and shook his head. "Nevermind."

"I thought you woke up every time I died," Dean said, puzzled. "When did you have time to put an obituary in the paper? And why the hell would you do something like that?"

"I didn't, Dean. I mean, right, I woke right up after. Every time." Sam didn't look at Dean, he just gathered up his papers and stacked them together, hitting the edges on the desktop until he seemed satisfied the corners all lined up perfectly. There was no getting around it, Dean's Sam was a freak.

More than just his usual anal-retentive annoyingness, though, there was something off with Sam, and there had been since Florida. Dean had no clue what it was, and Sam sure as hell wasn't about to enlighten him. But he'd amped up the anal-retentiveness to scary levels and alternated between not letting Dean out of his sight and almost forgetting he was there.

"So. Bar. You and me. Unexpected free time. Let's go." Dean grabbed his jacket off the hook on the wall that served as a closet and shrugged it on. "Sam." He made an after-you gesture with his hand.

Sam stood up, and something about his posture made him look as if he were standing at attention. There was tension in the set of his shoulders and the curve of his spine. Dean's neck practically went into sympathy spasms just looking at him. Sam shook his head. "No. I have to clean the guns, and the things we used for the werewolf. The trunk -" he gestured toward the door. "You go on, though. Go ahead, I have work to do." Dean could have sworn that Sam's eyes darted longingly to the unmade bed for a second.

Dean stared at his brother. "When did you turn into Dad?" he asked. "What the fuck, Sammy? That trunk is so organized already I can't find a damn thing in it. And we used _one_ gun and _one_ bullet for the werewolf, because that's just how awesome we are. What's to clean?" He spread his arms wide in impatient bewilderment.

Sam's fists clenched at his sides. He turned to Dean, his movements tight and controlled. "You don't understand. Things have to be organized, Dean. It's the only way to control them. I can't control things if they're -"

"Uncontrolled?" Dean asked, his eyebrows up around his hairline. "C'mon, Sammy. Help me out here, dude. Talk to me."

Sam looked at him, just looked, and for just an instance, there was so much grief and pain on his face that Dean took a step back. He swallowed, words dying in his suddenly dry throat.

And then Sam blinked and when he opened his eyes again, they were clear and calm and it was like he was seeing Dean for the first time that day. He sighed deeply. Dean watched as he visibly relaxed, losing some of the tension that was keeping him so tightly wound. He finally nodded.

"Okay. I guess I could go for a couple of beers." He pointed at Dean. "But no shots, and no waitresses tonight, Dean."

"Aw, c'mon, Sam. That last one, the blonde in Tallahassee? She was really hot." Sam might think he was the master of misdirection, but Dean was the master of dealing with Sam. He'd had years of practice, Sammy's whole life, in fact. If the little shit thought he could distract Dean when Dean wanted to know something, he could just think again. "I'll share," he offered with a leer.

"Yeah, but I won't," Sam said, and he planted a hard kiss on Dean's mouth.

Well, that was certainly new. Except in the way that maybe it wasn't.

Sam fetched his jacket as Dean wiped his bottom lip thoughtfully with his thumb. Give him enough time and tequila, and Sammy'd spill. He always did.

"Let's go, kiddo," Dean said, practically shoving Sam out the door. "Daylight's wasting."

"Because we need daylight to sit in a bar and drink," Sam said. "You're the one who's a freak, Dean." His eyes were warm and he smiled softly.

Dean checked his pockets for antacids. It was gonna take a lot of Jack to get Sam to loosen up enough to talk, but they had all night in front of them.


End file.
